


Second Creation

by Caranx



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Porn with minimal Plot, i wimped out on the pet play, the tiniest taste of pet play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 23:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8554288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caranx/pseuds/Caranx
Summary: Hayseed had always had an interest in his creator, from the very moment he opened his eyes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys please support my small business (Hayseed/Junkenstein)
> 
> \+ a relevant hc: while frankenhog is clearly electric powered, hayseed is a heat powered little man. Like a… a.. Furnace. Anyway thats how i explain his glowing mouth. (Plus he looks extra warm) 
> 
> A HUMUNGO THANK YOU TO @FROGGYFLAN WHO BETA-ED THIS AND SINGLE HANDEDLY SAVED IT <3

Hayseed had always had an interest in his creator, from the very moment he opened his eyes. Excused at first as emotions similar to that between a child and father, Doctor Junkenstein made the more professional decision to ignore the attachment. And, as necessary for accurate scientific research, Junkenstein took careful notes of the obsession. Clingy. Hayseed was either oblivious or undeterred, and Junkenstein allowed ‘it’ to continue.

 

‘It’.

 

Odd gifts began appearing on the good doctor’s desk: Handcrafted dolls that shared a striking resemblance with his machines. Most commonly, they were constructed from crumpled up and trashed blueprints, stripped or broken screws, thread, scraps of sackcloth from the weekly grocery delivery. At one point, a doll was left which looked very similar to his first creation, ‘Roadhog’. This seemed especially strange to him, as Hayseed shied away from interaction with the monster. Again, Junkenstein was unsure of why this would happen. More information to jot down.   
Hayseed would avoid entering a room when he spotted a looming shadow cast against the doorway. The hay man would silently scamper past the shadow and down the hall. This too was noted and quickly scratched down by a fraying feather quill that bled too much ink. He shrank away from the table when it was time for dinner, and although neither of the creations ate, Hayseed seemed the most uncomfortable and unnatural sitting at the table, awkward and unfitting amongst his patchwork family. 

 

He only seemed to be at ease when he was alone with the doctor; another note which Dr. Junkenstein scribbled down. It was the nights he spent working into the early morning hours where Hayseed became his most dependable company. Roadhog required some hours to be set aside during the week to settle down and recharge near the tesla coils- his version of ‘sleeping’. Hayseed, on the other hand, required little to nothing. If he spent too much time crawling in the attic or running around the garden to dig up worms, he might feel the need to grab some sticks to gnaw on. Junkenstein was especially grateful for Hayseed during the cold nights; the hay man would sneak under his desk and create his little trinkets. Hayseed most likely never even noticed his heating properties. Like an adult sized coal holder, he was a blessing to the doctor’s freezing toes and stump. Some nights, if he remembered to keep his own muttering to a minimum, he could hear Hayseed giggle or sing to himself as he worked. 

 

He hummed and tapped his metal fingers against the metal desk. Trink trink trink. 

 

While Roadhog seemed the most comfortable in silence or by himself, Hayseed thrived on attention. That's not to say Roadhog disregarded Junkenstein completely; he simply limited his moments of affection and glimpses of emotion. Hayseed, though, was starved. The simple recognition of calling him by his given name was enough to send him scrambling over to Junkenstein to hear what else he had to say.

 

“Yes, Doctor?”   
“Need help?”   
And, more often nowadays, a tentative, “Sir?” 

 

Sir? Junkenstein tickled his lips with the grey feather. Hardly anyone in the lab used that title. He was certain he only used it for when royal guards came to drag him before the Lord. Roadhog was deathly quiet, only answering when an answer was desperately required of him. Enigmatic.

 

The door barely creaked open. He closed the leather bound journal and nodded, “Come in”. 

 

A singular gold goggle peeking out from the door’s crack swiveled to the side shyly. ‘Who me?’ it seemed to say. 

 

“Yes, you.” 

 

The door was pushed open only enough for the scarecrow to shimmy through the crack. Arms clamped down his sides, he barely hid the slip of paper smashed in his grip. 

“Come ‘ere.”

More coaxing. Junkenstein itched to pull out his journal and jot this down as well. ‘December 21- Unusually reserved. No roadhog.’ No, he couldn’t risk scaring him off by bringing in Roadhog. Though he was painfully curious to see what would happen at this heightened state of fear. 

 

Fear? No not fear.

 

Bashful.

 

Hayseed took tentative steps forward. In hindsight, Dr. Junkenstein regretted not turning on the record player. Hayseed’s echoing footsteps seemed to be just another stressor at the moment.   
Hesitation seemed to take hold of Hayseed when he finally held the crumpled paper over his desk. His goggles squeaked and ground out as he looked around the room nervously. Finally, stubborn fingers dropped the slip, letting it flutter on top of his work. He stepped down and sat against the desk, near Junkenstein’s boots. 

 

One last look of “Is it okay to open it?” to Hayseed was left unanswered. He wasn’t looking at the doctor, instead picking at the fraying hem of his checkered pants. Junkenstein picked up the paper and unfolded it. Blank. He rubbed it against the edge of the desk to flatten it out. Yes, he should have put on a record. The crinkling paper was horrible, and Hayseed flinched with each smoothing. He flipped the paper over.

 

“Amazing—”, he barely could contain his whisper. Metal screeched when rusty goggles quickly bent up to look at him. 

 

A portrait. A bust of Doctor Junkenstein. Very clearly made with ashes and charcoals from the fireplace. He had scratched at it until the charcoal dug into the grain of the paper. Not even the smoothing out on the desk smudged the grey. Leaps and bounds in quality compared to the dolls left on his desk. Junkenstein glanced down to see gloved fingertips covered in soot. His leather mask was dotted with fingerprints as well. It almost pained him to imagine the poor creature struggling to produce anything resembling him using only half burnt sticks. He would have to remember to order some legitimate charcoal from the town. Maybe even some paints. 

 

“I see. So ya also like to create?” Truly made in his image, he supposed.

A quick nod.He was extremely quiet today. 

 

“You did a very good job.” Junkenstein placed a hand onto his head and smoothed down the strawy golden hair. Hayseed leaned up into the touch and rested his head on the scientist’s lap. 

 

Junkenstein quickly flipped open his journal and began to write. He couldn’t help himself. This was a startling next step to the obsession and it had to be recorded as accurately as possible. He thanked whatever gods were out there that made him ambidextrous. ‘December 21- New gift. Charcoal bust of myself. Uncharacteristically silent.’

 

Meanwhile, Hayseed practically melted into the touch. His furnace of a mouth made the doctor’s thigh burn, but he did not dare push his creature away. 

 

Suddenly, the doctor had an idea.

 

“Can ya do this again?” e dropped his feather in favor of lifting the drawing.

 

“Yes,” Hayseed nodded so quickly, his own neck hurt. 

 

He turned to a new page in his journal, replaced his pen in the ink jar, and patted his lap.   
“Can ya do it right now?” 

 

A glance to his lap and then back to his face and Hayseed quickly clambered up his legs and onto him. Junkenstein suddenly regretted giving up his journal. From here, he noticed even more tantalizing differences between ‘Hayseed on a regular day’ and ‘Hayseed now’, for reasons he still did not understand. The scarecrow seemed to shiver in his lap, and one of his legs jittered. Restless. This was something Junkenstein struggled with during seated meetings with the Lord. A sooty hand hesitated to grab onto the clean pages littering the desk.  
“You can take 'em off.” And so he did. The creature slipped off the dirtied gloves and dropped them on the ground.

 

While the rest of his body shook, still hands turned the journal and grabbed at the feather pen. He carefully tapped the excess ink against the lip of the jar, and brought it to the paper. Junkenstein tried to remember as many details as he could about this situation. No, Hayseed did not work as the usual artist did. He began from the top left corner, shading and hatching, going inch by inch down the page,ow by row. Junkenstein began to recognize hair, and then a forehead. Slowly working his way down the human face.

 

Ok, now the bouncing leg was starting to bother him. He pressed a hand onto the creature’s thigh and it stilled. He barely noticed his own hand moving up the leg, too involved in trying to figure out this method of drawing. Junkenstein finally noticed when the hips on his lap slid back towards his own. Now, his attention was elsewhere. While the scarecrow’s hand moved on the page, his hips barely ground down. Barely. Barely noticeable unless you took the time to study him. Junkenstein’s gloved fingertips slid across his creature’s inner thigh. The sketching hand paused for a moment and sinewy muscles tensed. Junkenstein licked his lips and let his fingers travel towards the twitching pelvis. 

 

The doctor wanted to say he wasn’t nervous himself, but the reminder of his inexperience gnawed at him. He rarely took control, but now he began to understand some of its more enticing qualities. His free hand came to rest at the hay man’s hip. He squeezed and felt the thigh under his other hand tremble. Hips now more bravely pressed down onto him and he rewarded it with a brave touch of his own, fingers grazing the front of Hayseed’s overalls. 

 

This time, the hand on the page completely stilled.  
“Yer doing very well,” he whispered against his shoulder. His chest thrummed with excitement. The doctor peeked over the shoulder and took in the stoic and gloomy sketch of Roadhog. 

 

“You like him more, don’t you?—” Hayseed said, half finished, stopped at the lower lip of his snout. The mood in the room shifted drastically.

 

Junkenstein was shocked; “Why do ya say that?”

 

Hayseed picked up the thicker part of the journal and flipped through the filled out pages, “Please don’t be mad at me.”

 

“Did ya read 'em all," Junkenstein whispered, "all of the entries?”

 

A pause.

 

Then a quick curt nod.   
He felt like he was scolding a child. “Why?”

 

Another pause. This time Hayseed shifted in his lap, squirming in diffidence.

 

“Wanted to know what you thought of me—”  
There were definitely more entries on Roadhog in the journal. Junkenstein tried to stifle the guilt that wormed its way into his belly at the thought of Hayseed flipping through and trying to find any mention of himself. He was sure, at most, the entries containing Hayseed only came up to about 20% of the time, and that was including those where he was simply mentioned in passing while concerning Roadhog. He could not find it in himself to lie. It was true, he favored his first creation. That was not to say that he fundamentally valued Hayseed less.

Hayseed's voice was just over a whisper:  
“I want you— to like me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> A necessary and half assed explanation of hayseeds existence: After successfully bringing down the gate walls, the witch granted Junkenstein a second crystal with which he created Hayseed. Cool backstory my guy 
> 
> +  
> i kind of imagine hayseed as a more reserved version of junkrat... if i were to give the skins different personalities. ya know? hes just a lil bashful. 
> 
> my twitter is @kophing_  
> my tumblr is kophing


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